The Indigo Shadow
by Somigliana
Summary: In the complacent, post-war lull, Snape senses a new threat, and he needs to convince the Ministry to take it seriously.


**The Indigo Shadow**

Severus Snape knows all too well that hope is never broken in long, drawn-out movie moments, where splinters of glass and long arcs of blood spiral endlessly on the air—true disruption has the ability to crush the very breath from your soul in a heartbeat.

Blood drips from his fingertips to stain the Christmas snow, and he watches as number twelve, Grimmauld Place slides into the magical between. It isn't expulsion from the Order or his broken nose that pains him most. He closes his eyes for an aching instant, recalling the desolate disappointment etched on her face, haunting her eyes, and then he turns and walks away.

A rogue gust of wind arrows across the desk, plucking indiscriminately at the neat parchment towers garrisoned along its edge. Snape stares in horror as they cascade to the floor, transforming his diligently crafted administrative order to chaos. He whips around to glare at the window, and the grotesque crouched on the windowsill flinches under the nuclear heat of his anger. He slams a long-fingered hand on top of the lone remaining tower and snarls, baring long, crooked teeth. "Get. Out. Of. The. Dampening. Charm."

"Oh. So sorry, sir." The fiercely ugly sentry hops down to the carpet with a thud, wringing its stone claws in abject apology. The offensive wind dies to silence as the charm reforms with a silver shimmer.

Snape's eyes narrow. He ensures the structural integrity of the surviving paperwork before rising to loom over the grotesque with clenched fists, but he tamps down on the rage that pulses scarlet with each heartbeat, because the castle sentries never defy the standard security reporting protocols without good reason. "What is it, Ivan?"

The limestone demon straightens, pulling his little stone wings in with a smart _click_. "Auror Granger arrived at the main gate, demanding to see you, sir, and when Vlad said it was _well_ past midnight and to return at a more _civilised_ hour, she hexed him... bronzed him solid... _and_ she threatened to do the same to Borys if you didn't come down to let her in." Ivan sniffs disdainfully.

Snape's nostrils flare, and he flexes his fingers. "I see." The blast of temper still radiates through his veins with residual heat, but a quicksilver spike of elation lances through it, and his lips pull from a tight, grim line into a crooked smile.

"Do you want me to take care of it, sir?" Ivan asks eagerly.

Snape can hardly blame the castle masonry for seeking a little excitement; Hogwarts has been whisper quiet since the rebuilding... mirroring the complacent peace that permeates the larger wizarding community. It makes Snape uneasy; itches between his shoulder blades; crawls along his nerves.

"No," he says, his tactician's mind alight with speculation. "I'll take care of her. Thank you, Ivan."

* * *

Despite his eagerness, Snape takes his time walking down to the main school gate. The spring evening is darkly pleasant despite the brisk breeze, and the shadows have additional depth under a scimitar sliver of moon. As with most spies and assassins, Snape loves this cloaking dark, and his natural revulsion of the full moon and werewolves only adds to his bias. As he vectors from shade to shadow, he watches Hermione Granger pace, back and forth, in front of the school gate. The static snarl of her magical aura attracts neon licks of magical energy off the school's boundary wards like a magnet. He lifts a finger to his lips to warn Borys to silence when the stone boar notices his approach, and he watches her from behind the gate pillar, rubbing the long bridge of his nose thoughtfully as he considers how best to proceed.

_I've anticipated her accurately up to this point, but she's always been inclined to a little tempestuousness..._

That, and there's the fact that Snape has rarely been able to resist baiting her for the simple pleasure of engaging in verbal sparring with a woman who can just about best him on an intellectual basis. He suppresses the thread of longing that follows his thought and shakes his head.

_She isn't happy with me at the moment._ He snorts inwardly at the depth of his understatement. _Deliberately pissing her off isn't going to help my cause. Simplicity and courtesy to start, then, I suppose._

A tiny knot of apprehension curls within his core as he steps out of the shadow. "Good evening, Auror Granger."

She whirls on her heel, wand extended to point straight between his eyes, and the gate ward separating them crackles with warning. "You!"

He opens his hands, palm up in the universal gesture of peace and those wishing to calm mad women. "As you can see," he says neutrally, hiding any trace of emotion behind his controlled features. "It is dreadfully late, but Borys said that it was urgent. What is it that I can do for you, Hermione?"

A flash of anger at his reversion to familiarity flares in her eyes before her fury freezes to masklike calm. It's one of his tactics she emulated quickly, and, much as it galls him to admit, she wields the icy indifference far better than his temper allows.

She lowers her wand and keeps her arctic gaze locked on his face as she reaches into her tunic pocket. A glitter of tiny, silver paperclips rests on her palm when she unclenches her fist between them.

Courtesy be damned; Snape cannot resist the opening. "I do have a stationery budget," he says calmly, "but thank you nonetheless."

The very corner of her mouth tics, but she controls her temper—rather admirably given the provocation, Snape thinks.

"I'd like you to explain to me why these listening devices, which I found in all of the Ministry's conference rooms, have your magical signature stamped all over them."

Snape raises his eyebrows and shrugs. "Because I put them there, I suppose," he admits.

Her eyes narrow, and the tip of her wand sparks with violet impatience. Tension tightens her face, hardening her pretty features, and lack of sleep has bruised dark circles beneath her eyes.

_She's fought herself every step of the way over here,_ he thinks with a guilty pang.

He relents and forces himself to stop antagonising her. He holds her gaze. "Why did you come to me, Granger? Why didn't you go straight to Savage or Shacklebolt with the security breach? You know that Kingsley would be delighted to have legitimate provocation to have me removed as Headmaster."

Granger touches the crossed wands pinned to the high collar of her tunic unconsciously, staring straight through him for a long, contemplative moment. Her suddenly pensive expression suggests that a part of her is wondering just that.

Snape smiles inwardly. _Another part of her is wondering if there is a hell of a lot more to the sorry story that Kingsley told them all, and she's secretly pleased that I've given her a good excuse to confront me. But another part of her feels exceedingly disloyal to her cronies for wanting to believe better of me._ The knowing smile dries to a wisp inside him; he knows just how excruciating it feels like to be pulled in the opposing directions that tear at a spy's loyalties.

Granger takes a deep breath. "Because I happen to know that you can hide your magical signature at will." She closes her fist around the paperclips again and closes her eyes, as if praying for strength or patience. "And... when you were still in the Order, you were the one who taught me how to plant this particular device _and_ how to find it."

The post-war years of rogue Death Eater hunting with the Order had given him savage satisfaction—he's never denied that retribution and revenge isn't beyond him. He'd vehemently denied any enjoyment of mentoring its younger members, but, eventually, that had become a blatant lie. Now, the wistful edge to her voice resonates with his own regret.

"And so," Granger continues slowly, "I can only assume that you _wanted_ me to find them."

The ward on the gate is quiescent, now, tempered by the easing of her anger, and the black night enfolds them tightly, so that Snape can only see the bright gleam of her eyes in the starlight.

"Yes," Snape says with a satisfied nod, even as relief surges through him, threatening to leave him weak-kneed.

"And?" A note of her characteristic impatience creeps back into her voice, lifting it to almost strident tones.

"I wanted to talk to you." His lips quirk.

"You could have owled, or Floo'd, or dropped by my office," she snaps, setting the night alight with a nonverbal _Lumos_ so that he can clearly read the displeasure written in her scowl.

"I'm rather persona non grata at the Ministry at the moment," he says mildly. "Besides, I didn't want any official record of the contact. Should you want to deny that we had a chat."

Her eyes widen, and he raises his hand to forestall her headshake. "I only want you to listen... to begin with." He heaves a long suffering sigh. "And if you wish to run to Auror central afterwards and tattle on me, then you must surely do as your conscience dictates."

She crosses her arms and tilts her head, dark eyes watching him intently.

He calmly bears her scrutiny for several seconds, and then he slowly disengages the gate wards with a tap of his wand and gestures for her to enter Hogwarts' grounds.

After another endless moment of consideration, she nods.

He keeps the smile off his face and returns her slight nod. "Would you care to take a stroll along the lake? It's almost pleasant out this evening."

* * *

Snape has to give her credit for holding her tongue, and her patience, for this long. She has spent the silence gazing at the subtle shimmer of the wind across the lake's mirrored surface, apparently deep in thought. She sighs. "I've really missed Hogwarts."

He glances across at her, watches how the shifting cerulean light from the sphere of blue flames she carries in her palm paints her regretful expression.

_Ah... I have missed your visits, too, Hermione._ "It doesn't magically appear at the top of the Faraway Tree once a year, Granger—you're alumni and, as such, welcome to visit... ah... during office hours."

Her shoulders slump, and she says in a soft voice, "After... what happened... I didn't feel comfortable doing that."

Snape bares his teeth in a snarl, but his disgust isn't directed at her for the most part. Although... a part of him desperately wishes that she had more faith in him. "Do you really understand what happened at Christmas? Why _do_ you think I left the Order, Granger?"

She takes a deep breath, as if stunned by the blunt blow of his question. "Kingsley asked you to leave the Order," she says levelly, "because you _punched_ him."

He grimaces at the deadly accuracy of her statement and subconsciously rubs at the new bump gracing the bridge of his nose. _He hit me back,_ he thinks petulantly. He sighs. "Yes, I lost my temper. Why?"

For a moment, Granger seems to consider making commentary on Severus' shortcomings of temperament and social graces, but she obviously has more restraint than he does, because she sighs and says dully, "He said you were arguing because you didn't agree with his proposed Muggle Affairs Policy."

He can hear the grim accusation in her voice, the hurt that lingers at the edge of it, and he grimaces. "Yes, that is correct in the most superficial sense, but it isn't exactly what I meant to ask. Do you know _why_ I don't agree with the proposed policy?"

Granger opens her mouth to spike him with a sharp retort, then changes her mind and closes it. She flutters her fingertips across the dancing flames and purses her lips. "Having never asked you directly... no," she admits finally. "But most of... them are in agreement that it was because, despite everything, you _do_ hate Muggles on some visceral, rubbed-off-from-Death Eaters level."

It isn't the first time Snape has heard it, but it gets under his skin nonetheless, scratching new wounds that bleed and sting. "I see," he says tightly. He stares up at the infinite dark with its pinprick glitter of stars. _Each is a sun,_ he thinks whimsically, _and how many have worlds where politicians are such a colossal pain in the arse?_

Granger kicks at a pebble. "It's just that I can't really see a valid reason for rejecting the proposal. And God knows I've always tried to give you the benefit of doubt, but..."

_You let the rest of the Order poison your logic._ He makes himself back away from the bitterness that tears at his heart and pulls himself back on track.

"What I think," he says, stopping and turning to face her, "is that Kingsley's viewpoint is severely skewed by the time he spent protecting the Prime Minister. I also believe that your perception is understandably blinded where Muggles and Muggle rights are concerned."

Her mouth works furiously for several moments, and she obviously discards several of her instinctive replies to his bald statement before huffing loudly. "I don't understand what you're getting at, Severus."

"That's always the problem," Snape mutters to himself as he Conjures a park bench facing the lake. She sits at the far end of the bench, arms folded, foot tapping, and Snape leans forward, elbows on knees. "My point is that Kingsley and the Order believes that Muggles require protection from wizards and not vice versa."

She frowns. "Well, just look at the Voldemort wars," she says logically. "He used Muggles as hostages, killed them off without a second thought. They've got zero defence against us, haven't they?"

_Haven't they?_ "So... the Statute of Secrecy was only implemented to protect the pitchfork-wielding Muggles, then?" he asks with a cynical twist of his lips.

She makes a disgusted face. "Of course not, but that was years and years ago, and Kingsley isn't suggesting that we break the Statute. He is merely suggesting that the Ministry and the Muggle government have a more... constructive interaction. We are British citizens, after all, and deliberately overlooking the Muggle laws that apply to all citizens isn't exactly cooperative or diplomatic."

Snape snorts. "The Muggle Prime Minister doesn't want cooperation and diplomacy and bedtime kisses; he wants some level of control over the wizarding population squatting in his country like a ticking bomb he has no clue how to diffuse."

It's her turn to snort. "I think you've just argued yourself in a circle and come around to saying that they have reason to be afraid of us and should be protected."

"No," he says firmly, sitting up straight and turning slightly to face her. "While I do agree that the Muggles are afraid of the wizarding population, I do not believe they are as toothless as Kingsley believes."

She rubs at her temples, suggesting that he is giving her a thumping headache. "I thought you said we were a ticking bomb with no solution?"

He surprises himself by chuckling, deep and low. "I did."

"Well, it's little wonder you and Kingsley got stuck into one another if you argued your point quite this well with him, Severus," she says with asperity.

"Hmmph." Snape traces his top lip with one finger, vaguely aware that he's given himself a minor headache, too. "His point _is_ valid at this moment in time, yes, but I do not believe that is going to be the case in the near future."

"Ah?"

Her expression is charmingly quizzical, and a rogue smile curves slightly at the corners of his lips. "How much do you know about what is going on outside of our borders?"

She shrugs. "Probably not as much as I should—we've been doing a lot of domestic cleaning up since the war—but it seems it's mostly business as usual from the little that does filter through."

He shakes his head. "I meant in the wider Muggle world."

She ducks her head and smiles ruefully. "Bugger all, admittedly. I'm a witch, through and through now. I know we're surrounded by the Muggle world, but it seems... distant, you know?"

Snape nods; he'd lived in Hogwarts' dungeon for several decades without bothering to notice that the axis of the world had shifted, day by day. "There are over sixty million people living in Britain now, did you know? What percentage of them are magicals?"

She frowns fiercely and attempts to do some basic figuring by counting fingers, then gives up. "Go on then."

"Point-zero-two percent," he says slowly, watching her eyebrows rise sharply. "Yes, quite a minority, aren't we? And that's counting our Muggle-born magicals. But, that's neither here nor there, really. Suffice to say we're outnumbered by a large margin, and if we were any less threatening, the Muggles would probably leave us to inbreed ourselves into extinction quite happily."

She stifles a spontaneous giggle with an uneasy expression; in moments, it's so easy to fall back into their post-war friendship, forgetting the tension rift that stretches painfully between them.

"But we're not harmless and fluffy, and the latest war has reminded the Muggles of that all too well. When you add in the fact that non-magical terrorists have made Britain and her big brother across the Atlantic rather paranoid about domestic threats, how confident are you that the British government has unicorn-white intentions for relations with the wizarding community?"

Her eyes narrow with speculation, and she chews on her thumbnail as she thinks. "Maybe... not..." she concedes, "but there's not much that they can do about it, is there?"

He crosses his legs at the ankles and catches sight of a swim of mermen checking their nets across the lake. Wonder at the beauty of his magical world seeps into the constant, low-grade sense of dread that shadows his thoughts. "That is... debatable."

"Really, Severus. A strong enough communal _Protego_ could shield us from a nuclear warhead, and they can't even get into our warded areas." She gestures at the castle and the grounds.

He doesn't smile, not one bit. "What if they didn't have to attack us from the outside? It's obvious that Muggle technological advances are growing exponentially, and it's only a matter of time before they realise they could probably pinpoint the genetic locus for our abilities. It's blindingly obvious that the trait is genetic."

Her face goes so pale it looks blue-grey. "Oh... God."

An appreciative smile quirks his lips. "You have an appreciation of where that could lead, then, I note." After needing to explain it in very small words to Lucius, Snape is appreciative of how quick she is to catch on to complicated concepts.

She nods. "I don't think they could do things like creating a gene-seeking disease vector quite yet... but..."

"Hmmm," he agrees. "That's not to say that they wouldn't overcome their collective fear-based stupidity before that... which could lead to something infinitely worse, in my opinion." His tone grows acidic. "Imagine them holding a loaded genetic gun to your head and demanding you weave magic on demand... cure world hunger; Transfigure world peace; make money grow on trees."

She rubs her face vigorously. "Can't Transfigure money," she says tiredly.

His slight smile is anything but triumphant; she understands his conjecture, but it weighs on her as heavily as it does him. He hates that he needs to use her this way. "Anyway. Kingsley thought I was weaving bad science fiction stories, and I..."

"Lost your temper," Hermione says, shaking her head, "because you were convinced that you were one hundred percent right."

He presses his lips together and stares at her intently. "The fact that I am convinced of my intellectual genius matters little at present."

She extinguishes her handful of flames and closes her eyes against the sudden rush of dark. "I... you... probably have valid points of concern. They just aren't tangible or immediate, though. I don't see what we can do about a future threat—it would be like fighting a shadow."

"I think that maintaining a traditionally closed society is prudent." Severus thinks that giving the enemy access to internal intelligence would be stupid and short-sighted.

_Although, telling the Minister for Magic that he was both stupid and short-sighted, even over drinks after an Order meeting, was stupid and short-sighted on my part._

"And?" She sounds resigned, waiting for him to reveal the true reason he'd "arranged" for her visit.

_The conservative pureblood faction doesn't have enough clout to dominate any vote._ "The Ministry vote on the matter is tomorrow and..."

"Fine, I'll have a word with him," she says tiredly.

He allows himself a small smile, hidden behind his dark fall of hair. "Thank you."

Hermione has the Minister's ear (and a more tactful disposition, for the most part), and Severus feels a ripple of relief ease through his muscles with the awareness that she will probably convince the Minister to delay the vote, at the very least.

"Was there anything else?" she asks, standing and smoothing her robes.

When he rises, the bench disappears with a muted pop. "There was, actually."

She sighs, suddenly sounding very tired. "And I'll ask him if you can come back to the Order meetings."

"No." He shakes his head and moves to stand right in front of her. The urge to reach for her is almost overwhelming, and he holds his breath, flexes his iron control. _I had planned to tell you at Christmas, and I want to tell you now..._

But he knows that assaulting her with another confusion of choice right now would be bitterly unfair. Besides, his Slytherin soul urges that his position with her is tenuous at the moment; good strategy demands patience and an opportune moment, yet again.

"Don't tell Kingsley that he's stupid or short-sighted," he murmurs.

Her teeth flash white in the dark. "Yes, that would be very stupid," she says dryly.

He grins boyishly and offers his arm in gallant fashion. "I'll walk you back to the gate, then, Auror Granger."

* * *

Snape sighs with infinite relief as he watches her Apparate into the dark, but it fades quickly as he senses the shadow of an indigo tempest still looming, squat and ugly, on the horizon.

* * *

A/N: Written for the SSHG Exchange for curia_regis.

The prompt was: "At times one remains faithful to a cause only because its opponents do not cease to be insipid." Nietzsche. AU. What happens after they win? Can the Ministry really recover? And is Snape really on the side of good? (Let's presume Snape is alive in this. *g*) I'd love something where Snape ends up secretly manipulating the political scene of the wizarding world and Hermione finds out. A happy ending would be good, but also an ending that can go both ways is also fantastic.


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